Houston, we have a problem.

"I might be getting back down to my high weight again." -actual thought I had today.

Terrible. DOWN to my HIGH weight?! There is something seriously wrong with the reality of this situation. I used to be around 120 and knew this because every single morning without fail I would weight myself right before I showered. And then bulimia happened and that number crept out of the 120's and I boycotted the scale. 

Boycotting the scale means that I can't get any heavier right? 

It makes my weight issues go away? 

-Oh hello Delusional we're best friends now. 

Still, I refuse to look at the scale. I couldn't even tell you how long it has been. I even moved it to be hidden in the bathroom so I wouldn't have to think about it anymore. I want the control and obsession back but fear and bulimia hold me prisoner.

Shower time and just changing clothes in general gets me all anxious and crawlunderarockanddy-ish. At least before I could face reality, all I want to do with reality is sweep it under and rug and run from it. Metephorically run of course because I've been far too lazy to engage in physical activities.

I loathe even putting sweats on. SWEATS! Can you imagine? The comfy clothes are even daunting to me. They just aren't all huge and hangey on my like I need them to be.

G2G see my new lil niece. 

Old McDonald had a Farm.

This weekend is holiday weekend (read: bikini's & smorgasboard of moomoo junk food) also, next weekend is family reunion in Laughlin (read: bikini's & copious amts of alcohol).

Are you feeling any of this anxiety radiating from my fingertips and leaking itself into the internet?

I assure you it's at level: Nuclear Atom Bomb. Bikini's are scurry.

Seriously, bikini's affect my hearing. There are no words when I am wearing one all I hear are "moo"'s and the earth rumbling from every step I take. AND it's gonna be hotter than Satan's Vagina. Whose bright idea was it to go to the desert in muther effing Julyheatstroke weather? Not mine, my friends. Certainly. Not. Mine.

I don't want to go (can you tell? Yes. Just checking.) but "I'm fat, broke and I will melt onto the sidewalk and end up SunnySideUp by Sunday" is not what my mom considers a "Good Excuse" actually she believes it to not even qualify to be in the "Excuse" catagory. But I really don't think "my dog ate it" would work in this situation which is the only "good excuse" that I know. So I'll be dreaming up new ones for the next two weeks.

Cry, Crybaby.

Wow, what a week. I went to work all week with my mom (to do work on a side project she's got goin) which was a good thing for me. Everyday I was up, showered and out of the house by 8 o'clock (okay, maybe not 8 but y'know in the "morning") (my mom is salary, sometimes she doesn't get to work til 10:30! or even later...) I basically just sat at a desk all day doing work that is comparable to Slap Jack (without the "slapping". The fun part.), drinking coffee (love, love, love that coffee is limitless at the office!), listened to my iPod and did my best to avoid "office treats" (cheesecake, chocolate cake, donuts....oh my.) and managed fairly well (I had a danish.) (and even though I wanted to chop off my hand for the insufferable crime it was good).

It was nice getting my mind off....well, whatever it is that is was on. And everyday after work we had something to do and kept busy. (No, this is not the norm.) (I'm lame.) So basically, the week went by in a slap jackin' flash.

I only purged once.

(It's all about the small victories)

It's not that I didn't want to or wouldn't it's that I didn't have the opportunity and let's face it my bank doesn't want any part in it either. Speaking of which. I caved. After this whole EDD cutting me off thing festering in me for what feels like an eternity Friday towards the end of the day my mom came down and was telling me what she wanted me to do and she may as well have been speaking Eugoslavian because I wasn't comprehending a damn thing (and my face is expressive).

She asked me if I was okay, if I was hungry or something (which was the case for my slowness on Wednesday) I said no, she continued explaining and tears started flowing. Even after she walked away I just couldn't stop and I was trying to be all super quiet (snot and sniffles) plus I was at my mom's work. The last thing she needs are rumors that she made her daughter cry when I was working for her. She already is a Human Resources/Payroll/Benefits Director at a construction company and if you anything about either that position already warrants you the "office police".

What the hell was I crying for?

Answer: I have no idea. Everything. Nothing. I don't know.

It was so bizarre. I would stop crying and then as soon as a thought (ex: that stapler is black.) I would start crying again. Until finally I tried to stop thinking and just work, like a zombie. I felt all light headed (like I'm in a bubble floating on a cloud), a little dizzy and a faint headache coming but never actually "getting there" (I don't know any other way to describe it). This is exactly how I feel after I've purged. Weird, right?

My mom felt bad (really bad) (which I feel bad for) and apologized later on when I went up to her office so we could get going. She said she was just anxious and letting me know what to do and didn't realize if she was being rude or mean or what. I told her it was fine, I'm just emotion and muttered something about starting my period or something.

That night she was asking me how I wanted to be "compensated" for my work. She didn't want to put me on the payroll or use my SS# at all because she didn't want it to affect my EDD. And I said, it's fine just put me on the payroll, it won't effect my EDD (*gulp*) because (*choke*) they dropped (*tears flowing like the Hoover Dam just cracked open*) me.  There were more uncontrollable sobs, chokes, sniffles and enough tears to fill the Atlantic ocean.

My mom took sympathy and felt horribly that I'd been holding this in (which I'm notorious for) and hurt that I didn't feel comfortable to tell her (scared that she would be disappointed in me for such a stupid mistake) and I should have told her because THIS IS WHAT SHE DOES(!). Which I know, of course, but the look of disappointment that I thought she'd give me (preceding her help) just was frightening to me. (Umm....yea, so I'm no winning any "Smart/Brave Girl" awards anytime soon). It was a long night. Very emotional. Puffy eyes.

I do this every. time. When I get to the point of hating my job I tend to cry on the way home from work (I hold back all day so I don't run my mascara, waterproof is blasphemy!) and lie when she asks me how work is going until finally I do exactly what I did last night burst out into uncontrollably sobs crying mountains of tears. 

Will I ever learn? 

My name means "wisdom". What is that sarcasm? 

I'm thinking yes.

(I can't wait to read all your posts! I've missed out on so much blogging in just a week!)

Quickety Quick

Thank you soooo much for your kind words and suggestions. This week I
am the special task force for a covert op at my moms job. This is what
I tell myself all day for a little boost of enthusiasm (to go with my
never empty cup of coffee) but really it's like playing Slap Jack all
day long when your not even sure there are any Jacks left. Excitement.
Overload.

(that's intense sarcasm just in case you missed it or your memories of
Slap Jack after the age of 10 are insanely different from my own)

Anywho, it's kept my mind (for the most part) sane being at the office
all day and focused on what I'm doing. Did you know there's "life"
"out there"? It's true! And you can "interact" with "people" "face to
face"? And it's called being "social"?

Oh. You knew that already? This isn't news?

Well, I better be off to sleep now there's a thrilling game of Slap
Jack in store for me tomorrow.

Thank you again for your comments I really do appreciate you taking
the time to share your thoughts/advice/anything.

Sent from my iPhone.

I'm No Poet

but I did write a poem. I tried to just put the audio in there but Blogger was being a bloghole so another quickstyle slideshow with one picture because I don't have patience for that shiz.

Home alone again;

But it’s not mischief that’s my vice,

It’s the food in the kitchen

Which taunts me all night.

I go to sleep and dream

nightmares so nice.

But these nightmarish dreams

they follow me to life.

Frantically bingeing

On x-listed food.

I know when it’s gone

There’ll be damage to undo.

My belly overloaded.

The kitchen a wreck.

Drowning in guilt;

I hate what comes next.

Bent at the waist,

Fingers circling my throat,

Over the toilet.

Snot streaming from my nose.

This sick little secret

That nobody knows.

Reminding myself to be patient;

What went down will come up.

Just keep doing what I’m doing

So I can soon flush.

Flush down all the guilt.

Flush down the pain.

Flush down the emotions

I tried to eat away.

I flush and I flush

Until my energy’s depleted.

I hate that I’m weak;

And continually defeated.

Over and over this cycle recurs.

So sick.

So disgusting.

Yet disturbingly obscure.

Eight days a week

My mind flirts with this urge,

Every bite that I eat

My mind tells me to purge.

“This times the last time.”

I use to swear to myself,

Now I don’t even bother,

I’ve no hope for health.

All Emo.

What a mofo'n nightmare today was is. I've b/p'd already and it's still the first half of the day. And I didn't even purge a lot, not nearly as much as I ate. Ugh! Why are you denying me body! Why! That's disgusting in every which way. I hate myself. I hate my body. 

I wasn't even hungry! But I just ate and ate and ate anyway. Why do I do this to myself? It's like I'm begging for misery and unhappiness. I don't want to be me.

I don't know why I'm living, what's the point I have nothing to offer. I'm just taking up space, even more space than I should be since I'm so fat. I feel like I'm only "loved" because it's expected. You can't just not love your family right? That's something people can't even admit to their own self because they think it would make them "a bad person". I hate my life. I hate myself. And I'm too lazy and scared to do anything about either. It's just me, Mia and Ed.

I'm Scared To Face Another Day

My mom said that her boss' boyfriend got denied any further unemployment because he sent in his form late. I was to cry. If they're cracking down I'm donezo. In fact, I may already be donezo. It's been a week and I haven't heard anything from EDD since I sent my I'm sorry it was an accident note. Then flipping through todays mail she made a comment that she never sees when my unemployment checks come. I wanted to die. DIE!

I haven't even looked for a job yet. I haven't even made my resume good. Anybody got any InstaDead for me? Cuz I needs a double.

Almost 24 years old and I'm afraid to tell my mom. I don't think I can handle the pressure [I fear] she will put on to find a job when she finds out I gots no income. I want to cry and shove the kitchen down my throat. And finger it back up chuck by chuck. I'm scared, the emotions stirring in me are overwhelming and I don't know what to do I just want to die to make all my worries go away.

The only thing stopping me from b/p is that I have a softball game and there isn't enough time. Plus, I'm bad enough at softball, I don't need the added handicap of light headedness and guilt. 

Going for Two

I'm going to work for my mom on a little special project and I'm expected to be discreet, as in try to be invisible. I get to be spy-ish! Minus the actual spying. I was considering going incognito but my mom thought the afro, painted on goatee and rahstafarian gear would be a little much. And it's just too damn hot for a trench coat, hat and sunglasses, plus how ridiculous would that be in an office?!

Anywho. I'm mostly excited about it because (besides the whole secret agent factor of course) I won't be able to stuff my face all day. But I'm not excited to wake up early and wear pants and make up, er not that I just sit in my underwear all day and read blogs...

This just got awkward.

SO today I did better than I have in a while. Coffee, grapefruit, salad, zuchini and a tofu dog. Office does mean endless coffee which is Super Fantastic. And we all know caffeine means ridiculousness endless energy & suppressed appetite. What actually makes me nervous tomorrow is lunchtime. We are having a family lunch at a mexican restaurant (read chips and salsa) and I'm afraid that I will be unable to exercise restraint when I've been not eating all day. 

Menus are the devil. 

And so are bottomless baskets of chips and salsa.

Thinspired

I love music, it can mean so many different things to each individual. Heartbreaks and 808's don't compare to what E.D. has done to me. It's like making a deal with the devil. Or something. Most heartbreak-ish songs remind me of Ed-an abusive relationship but my desire to be loved thin tethers me (like "Gravity") and I often wonder why I do it. (Addicted and stupid? Likely.)

I was bored yesterday so I decided to familiarize myself with iMovie (on my Mac). It's pretty awesome how easy it is to link your project to iTunes and sync up to your iPhone (or iPod). Coolness. Everybody, buy a Mac! They are Super Fantastic in epic fantasmal proportions. And mine is old (1 year) just imagine brand new.

They suck but whatevs I'm a beginner! And patience is not bottled up nor sold in pill for the av_erage^bear.

(Don't judge!)

(Sharing is caring, right?)

I'm rambling. Here it is. Quicksyle and amateurish.

Paramore "We Are Broken"

Sara Bareilles "Gravity"

Sometimes Wrong Just Feels So Right

My puking skills are improving. Patience, I'm learning, is the key. I really do wish they'd start selling Ipecac on the Internet again so I wouldn't have to work so hard to get everything up. I feel miserable after puking in either case so why not drug it up and not have to work so hard? The best part of it was that it got EVERYTHING UP. Which makes it all worth it. I know that it is very "dangerous" but I figure I'm gonna die anyway right? Why not just do what I wanna do?

(just sayin')

You hear that FDA? Put it back!

Sent from my iPhone.

On a Scale of 1 to 10-what's 1? what's 10?

I was reading SkinnyBitch's latest post and reading the comments. Particularly, ra417's comment:

If you're not really anorexic (and it doesn't seem to me that you are....) then why don't you just EAT if you're trying to lose weight? It seems that you're doing this as a fad diet, the end goal of which is to lose weight..so logically you'd be better off just following a regular, healthy diet (at least 1200 calories) as that will actually help you take weight off and KEEP it off. When you starve yourself, the minute you start eating again you will gain weight, because it causes your metabolism to shut down.

People with actual anorexia are TERRIFIED of eating..but they want SO badly to be able to do it. (I'm a recovering anorexic) If you want to lose weight, wouldn't it make sense to do it in a way that's effective? If you CAN eat normally, do it, just eat sensibly and you'll lose weight.

I'm just really wondering, if you don't actually have the disorder, why starve yourself to lose weight when you know that you'll just put it back on?

This commenter has a point. Initially I was reminded of frame of mind and the behaviors of the anorexics in Wasted and Stick Figure: A Diary of My Former Self which in a nutshell is just what ra417 said (TERRIFIED of eating..but they want SO badly to be able to do it). But the more I this marinaded in my brain (I'm a thinker) (clearly.). I thought of the blogs I read, my own mindset and what is considered "normal" behavior/attitude, most of the blogs parading the "pro-ana" slogan may not be full fledged anorexics but are they not on their way?

When dieting becomes an obsession, when you are unable to see the reflection [of your body] in the mirror, when the mere thought of eating and food invokes even a mild anxiety-whether you want to eat it or not (like a health nut whispering in one ear and an anorexic in the other)- are these not stepping stones? I think we can all agree that this is not "normal" behavior.

Where is the line between the average dieter and an anorexic?

When it becomes an obsession?

But then what is classified as an obsession?

For me personally it's when something consumes your mind but some would argue it is when it affects your behavior or both. My point is each individual has their own perspective.

Life is black and white and red and yellow and blue....

life is all or nothing and a little of this and a lot of that,

it just depends on which way you're looking at it.

My sister just had a baby (girl!) and when asked, "on a scale of 1-10 how do your contractions rate?" and when she answered 8; jaws dropped, she was already dilated at 9. The doctors and nurses said that there are some woman who described their pain level at 11 and are screaming at the. top. of. their. lungs. when they are dilated a 1 or 2. I don't doubt the number they gave was genuinely what they felt but their perspectives [I imagine] differ greatly.

My sister was expecting and accepting of the pain (not to say that she wanted it just that she knew it was the reality of the situation that was unavoidable), she didn't dwell on the pain that passed and dread the pain about to come. I imagine the Incessant Screamer to do just that-dwell and dread, I imagine her wishing the pain away, not wanting to deal with it and thus increasing it's burden and amplifying the onslaught of agony.

But what do I know? This is just my little perspective. I haven't been hospitalized or even diagnosed with any kind of eating disorder. I haven't experience childbirth. I do not have a PhD, in medicine or psychology. I'm just your "average" girl with an opinion, a perspective and a blog.

Now if you'll excuse me I need to go stick my fingers down my throat until I puke and puke until my stomach is as close to empty as I can manage.

A Prisoner of My Mind

Have you ever gone through the day just waiting for it to be over?

That's how every day is for me.

Sleep is my salvation. It's the only time my mind is completely free. I fuct up again today, no purge (yet) (but hopefully not at all *fingers crossed*) just bingeing. Kinda, I did binge on regular food stuff but the kicker was cake. I made a mini cake of the leftover batter yesterday and it has been taunting me since. I chewed and spit the whole thing. Does disgusting ever get sick of me? I'm thinking no.

I hate this feeling inside. This empty but not empty feeling. I feel so alone in the world. Trapped in my own mind. Lost in a flurry of endless thoughts and worthless emotion. And all I wanna do is eat. Isn't that a bitch? 

I hate putting on and taking off my clothes. Even they judge me. Too tight, never loose enough. The mirror snickering at me like heartless mean girls making fun of Fatty McCow. I just want to hibernate in my room, drowned in blankets and dreams until they swallow me whole and spit me out skinny. Skinny is key.

It just dawned on me that a big source of my anxiety is what's gonna happen when the baby comes and it's time to cut the cake and pass out the cupcakes. Will I be caught in a moment of weakness? And unable to rid myself of guilty matter? Should I eat now so I won't be weak later? But when is later?Should I not eat so that my weakness won't throw me over the deep end calorie-wise? Should I just go about my business and come up with a plethora of excuses to excuse myself and puke?

How has my life turned into this? Any takers to [acquire and] administer a horse tranquilizer on me? 

You can't kill something that's already dead.

I Can't Handle Ugly

Yesterday I managed to keep myself in control (mostly) but today? Notsomuch.

I had a 6:30 softball game then headed over to Baby Patrol afterwards. (No baby, still belly) My mom and I ended up staying the night and when I woke up: grapes and 2 bowls of corn flakes then more grapes and a couple slices of watermelon. AND THEN(!) when we got before noon I ate rice cakes with peanut butter-ish  and eggwhites on toast.

Le sigh.

But still, I thought, I'll just not eat the rest of the day. I'll be okay. I can do this! (exclamation point  = enthusiasm = coffee) And that exclamation point extended itself to my mom's idea to bake a cake (to welcome baby when baby's birthed) and I was like, "CUP cakes! Yes! Let's bake some cupcakes!". We decided both. She do cake, I do cupcakes.

Right when the cake was ready to be frosted my mom bounced out to go walk Ms. Preggers leaving me to decorate the cake [and cupcakes]. 

Disaster after decorating disaster followed. My efforts of "touching up" these "hiccups" resulted in hideousness. (And self-loathing.) (Lots and lots of self-loathing.) I tried to get my mom to rethink the whole cake thing; passing it along to a random homeless seemed perfectly reasonable (not to mention charitable). Mother Dearest did not agree. 

(Sorry random homeless dude)

Still with a smidge of a smidgen of hope and determined to redeem my decorating and creative abilities I tried to get a little fancypants with the cupcakes. 

FAIL. 

Luckily cupcakes are salvagable. They ended up simple and pretty cute. But one more look at the cake catastrophe sent me over the edge. I wanted to go straight ostrich in this biotch and bury my head in the ground. The toilet swallowed my head instead. That's right:

Binge, binge binge.

Purge, purge, purge.

Le sigh. I hate myself. Emotions and feelings suck. And you know what the worst part of it is? (Well, let me tell you!) It's not even the throwing up that is the bad part to me. It's satisfying. The contents traveling up my esophagus-that feeling, I like. I imagine cutters feeling similarly about the pain of slicing their own flesh. I hate (HATE! HATE!! HATE!!!) the calories of the binge. And the after isn't great. The worst is the anxiety I get when my body is hellbent on digestion and the fear of not being able to bring anything up. But the way it consumes my mind that's what I do it for. The ugliness was gone for that bit. The world outside of food, fingers and flushing wasn't there.

I regret eating more than purging.

Not.

Normal.

Trying To Tip the Scales

So, I'm trying not to purge. Trying and trying really hard to hang on to the smidgen of control that's holding me down right now.

I'm having a hard time trying to find the "silver lining" in the evil eye of this "shit storm". Bronze lining would suffice at this point. Depression is rearing in on me, I'm in it's throws I can feel it's darkness clouding around me. Still seachring for silver but coming up with dreary desperation. 

I try to regurgitate "words of wisdom" and keep down the contents in my tummy. Y'know all that cliche stuff. I cannot control what happens, it's out of my hands. All I can do is sit and wait and this anxiety and fear and panic are "wasted emotions".

But they're still inside me. I need an exorcism or something to remove all this negativity from my body. And food. (Didn't that little Exorcist girl puke?)

 Agh! That's what I'm trying to not do and yet my mind is gravitating towards it. To not think about my current situation? It's like the Mia inside be is begging, pleading and fighting to be the answer-my answer. I hate this. I'm all alone which makes her invitation that much more alluring. My only friend Mia. Frienemy really. What do they say about keeping your friends close and your enemy's even closer? There is something so terribly wrong with that saying. Fuck my life.

Frantic Friday

I'm freaking out. I haven't gotten my unemployment check and was thinking it's way late. I text my cousin to see if she had mailed it for me and she said she had. Then it dawned on me, just before I had gone to Arizona for an aunts funeral there was a letter from EDD, I glanced at it but didn't read it. The glow in the dark orange envelope should have tipped me off that this letter was not to be taken lightly but I had to hurry and pack and after a few days away funeralling and whatnot I completely forgot about it. I went on a madd search for the stupid letter and tore my house apart. I finally found it in a mile high pile of miscellaneous mail stack.

Allegedly, I had reported earning $0 the week that I had gotten laid off when in fact I had earn $370. Oops. It was an accident of course. Please, I'm not trying to play fraud with the unemployment agency; I need the money! I replied to the letter (hurriedly), it was a mistake and I'm sorry, blah, blah, blah and rushed over to the post office box. 

Again. I'm FREAKIN out over here!

This is insane, I can't believe this happened. How could I be so cavallier? I'm so disappointed in myself. I don't know what I'm going to do. The job market does not seem to be improving and with no income...

I'm so scared. I pray that they don't discontinue my unemployment. 

I can't stop eating, my anxiety is in overdrive. I want to scream and cry and die and beg and plead with them. I don't know what to do. It was an honest mistake. An accident. Surely I'm not the only person this has happened to? Surely they understand accidents?

All I want to do is binge and purge.

The taste of the food.

Filling the emptiness inside of me.

Fingers down my throat

taking it all back

like rewinding time.

Undoing mistakes.

Ironically, it feels bad but because I feel like I deserve it the grossness of it all the bad, disgusting feeling of bad really isn't so bad. If that can even make sense. I never claimed to be articulate. 

Word Vomit

Oh. My. God.

My mom takes everything out of context, one little comment drop and BAM! Tsunami. It's ridiculous, she thinks that porn is the devil. Like it's this horrible secretive thing. 

My [just turned] 7 year old cousin got caught watching HBO porn the other day. All of a sudden she's gonna be a whore (which is in question but not because of this incident in particular) and the channel (some random movie channel) is thought to be PornGaloreTV. 

Mom, this is 21st century reality. Welcome. 

HBO porn starts early on Fridays (evidently) it's not one of "those" channels and if a child is curious they're gonna watch it! It doesn't really matter so much how you raise a child, they are curious and interested in whatever that kid in particular is into. 

A tiger can't change his spots.

I tried (admittedly, somewhat inarticulately) to explain that "it's just porn" and that it's not the end of the world. Wrong. Choice. Words. The "it's just porn" comment sent her over the edge. Apparently, this is another way to say that's it's totally fine for kids to watch it which is not what I was trying to say at all. I'm just saying it was a week ago, let's not dwell on it, it's not the end of the world, I never really thought about it being so "available" to them either but what happened did. They watched or they didn't, let's put a block on the TV not have a long as rant about how this is going to affect their lives. (Maybe because I watched it when I was "too young" too and I turned out... oh wait.)

So here we are a week later and this porn watching is still weighing heavy on her mind. She's deeply concerned. New rule: the kids are no longer allowed to have the remote when they're watching TV in the middle room. Seriously? Is it really necessary that we go to that? The 7 year old- okay, fine whatevs but my other little cousins are a couple months away from being 10 & 11. Just activate the parent lock thingy! No need to confine them to 1 channel. Plus, do we really want them to call us over to change the channel for them? The answer is no. No, we don't.

I kept trying to clarify myself but I couldn't even finish a sentence I was immediately cut off with "we shouldn't be conditioning them..." and "it shouldn't be available to them in this house..." and blah freaking blah. 

I know this. I agree. Just sayin', this is not something to get all riled up about (again!) a week later. 

AND THEN it was "I know you watch that kind of stuff but I don't...". 

I'm like "wha?"

How did this turn to me watching porn? 

I couldn't even get a full word out, she kept saying "you don't have to deny it, you don't have to say anything, I'm giving you the out." Um, okay. I wasn't even trying to address that because a.) I do sometimes and b.) I'm not condoning the watching of the porn by the kiddies. 

So then I did what I should have done the minute she starting talking: shut up.

It's always like this with my mom. It's so frustrating. Every mountain is  the Himalayas and when I try to bring it back down to size (Mt. Baldy or something) Wammo! suddenly I'm saying the opposite-the Himalayas don't exist. 

Or something. I kind of lost myself on that one. But still! Ugh!!

My mom is really good at making me feel like shit and guilty for a point that I wasn't even trying to make. I hate feeling like this, it seems like not living would just be so much easier than this. I hate myself for not being able to shut the F up. I deserve to be a mute. Or dead. Either way.

In So Many Ways

Flushed. So various variations and uses for one simple one syllable word.

"become red and hot, typically as the result of illness or strong emotion"

"cleanse something by causing large quantities of water to pass through it"

"remove or dispose of in such a way"

"cause to be revealed; force into the open" (figuratively speaking)

"so as to be level or even"

I can relate.

(Obviously, if you happen to catch the name of this blog!)

I flush: my face, my body, my toilet. 

I'm shameful of my behavior and relationship with food. In a positive state of mind I flush my body with tons of water. I eat healthy. I try and keep my mind clear of negativity and let the past be the past. Unfortunately, this "positive state of mind" is becoming increasingly few and far between fading into darkness. Or, more specifically, consumed by food and fatness.

I was big and lost weight the healthy way. But the more weight I lost the more obsessed I became with the number on the scale. It became an obsession, my mind was clouded with numbers. 

Numbers the scale would read.

Number of calories. 

Number of minutes on the treadmill.

The number on the tag of my jeans.

One day I ate two slices of leftover pizza that my mom had left in the fridge. I freaked. My heart raced, my mind went into full panic mode. Images of fat drowned me in guilt. That was the first time I purged.

It was a pivotal day in my longing to be lean turning my aim to be angular into clashing with calories; and obliterating a mountain of self control & discipline to powdered sugar & processed foods. I gained and I'm disgusted with myself on so many levels.

I need an outlet. A space to be honest. So here I am: Flushed.